Something Like That
by Insomniac Connor
Summary: [AU] Chloe stared at the spot where he'd been, sighing to herself. She sure knew how to pick them: first, an asshole with no respect for women and now an emotionally-distant-and-battered soldier coming home for good. No wonder she didn't have a boyfriend.
1. Chapter 1

Something Like That

Chapter One

* * *

"It's okay, Sunny," Chloe said, handing the sniffling girl a box of tissues.

"No, it isn't," spat the girl.

Chloe pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose to push back the massive headache she felt sweeping forward. "I hope the medication is helping; you'd tell me if it wasn't, right?"

Sunny wiped her nose and nodded slowly but her eyes were on the window. Her blue-and-pink dreads swung around her head. Although she was very tan, Chloe could clearly see the red splotches of anger on her face.

"I'm afraid our time is up. I'll see you next week on Wednesday, okay? Hang in there."

The girl got to her feet, stuffed a couple of clean tissues into her pocket and headed for the door. The sad smile on her face left Chloe unsettled a tiny bit. "Alright. Bye." The smile didn't reach her eyes as she closed the door behind her softly.

Twenty-year-old Chloe Saunders sank into her chair, loosening the collar of her shirt. The room was stifling, hot despite the AC running full-blast. A knock at the door made her look up from her PC. A curl of strawberry blonde fell across her sweaty face but she shoved her red-streaked hair back, wondering if she should cut it all off.

"Chloe? It's me, Simon. I've got someone I'd like you to meet," came the soft, airy voice of a man she'd known since she was fifteen.

"Come in," she said, adjusting her pencil skirt a little bit.

The door creaked open slowly and Chloe's mind flew back to the days where she thought she'd be a director, making everything a screenplay. _Protagonist hears a creepy door opening. She looks up confused from her work and, standing there, is dark, hulking figure…_

"Good to see you, Simon. I've just finished a session with a patient," she explained as she wiped off her face.

Simon, tall, thin and attractive with spiky blonde hair, golden skin, and almond-shaped brown eyes, grinned at her, dressed in a grey tank top, shorts and a pair of sneakers that looked like they belonged in a teenage boy's closet. His dog tags from Iraq glinted in the light.

"Chloe, meet my brother, Derek."

Her eyes drifted behind him and just simply stared.

The guy was very tall, well over six foot, and broad, and obviously worked out a lot. His long, black hair was tousled and hung lank in his eyes, an exotic green that made her think of a predator's gaze. His skin was brown, sun-tanned; his skin set-off the white t-shirt and ripped jeans made Chloe sweat more; how could he stand the heat? She was sweltering in her loose blouse and pencil skirt just looking at him!

"Hello, Derek," Chloe said quietly, pushing back a curl. In all the years of knowing Tori and Simon, they never breathed a word of their older sibling to her.

Derek grunted something that she took as a greeting.

"Why―?"

"He's…he's not adjusting well to civilian life. I thought maybe you could help. Considering your aunt was in the military."

Chloe nodded and waved them in; Simon skipped right on passed her but Derek stood there in the doorway after ducking into the room and stared down at her.

His face was carefully blank, like a mask, hiding his emotions but so was his gaze; his eyes searched hers for what stretched out into an eternity.

"A-hem, hate to break your dramatic, gazing-into-each-other's-eyes shindig but I need you over here, bro."

Like a St. Bernard, Derek lumbered to his brother, a look on his face that passed too fast for Chloe to figure it out, and then he sat, dwarfing his brother.

"He just got back from his—" A pause "—fifth deployment. Back for good. Discharged with a Purple Heart." Adoration shone in the half-Swedish boy's face as he patted Derek on the knee.

The dark-haired man made a grunting sound again but said nothing.

Chloe settled into her chair and crossed her legs; a heat prickled her chest when Derek's sharp eyes zeroed in on her skin, her legs to be exact. Trying to ignore it, she asked, "How long have you been in the army, Derek?"

When Simon went to answer, she held up her hand.

Derek didn't move, didn't make a sound as his eyes flickered up to hers and then back to her legs.

"Six years," he muttered. He had the loveliest voice, a rumbling kind that she really only read about in erotic romance novels. It was gravelly and deep, like distant thunder, sending shivers up her spine.

"Have you had any effects like PTSD?" She was biting her lip and his gaze honed in at that now; he didn't say anything for the longest time and then he slumped back, looking like a teenager who didn't want to be here. She could see him as a teenager, acne spotting his face, scowl on his face, blunt and broody and rude.

"He does! He wakes up during the night sometimes―" Simon said.

"Simon." Chloe rubbed her forehead; it came away sticky with sweat. She was sweltering and he wasn't helping.

"―And he's got this terrified look on his face, his skin ashy like he's seen a ghost. He watched some of―" he prattled on.

"Simon." An edge crept into her voice as she grew annoyed at the other blonde.

"―His men die out there. Do you think it's a guilty―" he was saying, completely oblivious.

"Simon!" Derek and Chloe nearly shouted in unison and Simon froze, mouth open mid-sentence.

"I'll be back in a moment," said the young woman and, as she rose and turned to the door, she swore she felt Derek's eyes on her butt.

Once the door was closed behind her, Chloe made her way down to the water fountain and, as she was taking a deep sip, heard, "Simon's here, isn't he?"

She turned to find Tori, the office secretary, standing there; she was Simon and Derek's younger sister.

Tori's black, short hair was pulled back with a hair-band and she wore a loose fitting button down and loose skirt, looking cute and professional.

"Yes. I didn't know about Derek," Chloe replied as she splashed a bit of water onto her face. Thank God she never bothered with makeup. When Chloe got back to her office, she could hear bickering and paused.

Simon and Tori were arguing.

Derek didn't say a thing.

Clearing her throat, the therapist pushed open the door and watched the siblings. "Simon, Tori, could I speak with Derek for a bit? Alone."

They gave her similar wide-eyed looks.

Simon slinked out but Tori lingered. She waggled her eyebrows and Chloe's face felt hotter than an oven. "He's not that bad. Try not to feel discouraged if he won't answer. He's just a bit cranky." Tori closed the door and her heels click-click-clicked away.

Derek sat there, a look disinterest on his face, but his eyes followed her closely. "So, Derek," Chloe started with a smile, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs, "tell me about yourself." There was no reply, at all; he just stared at her. "My name is Chloe," she offered.

He rewarded her with a scowl.

"I'm twenty years old. I went AR Gurney School of the Arts. Have you ever been there? It's a private school, though," Chloe said, picking at the lint on her skirt. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes.

"Does this bother you?" she asked quietly when she realized he'd been staring at her feet.

"You have such small feet," he said after another minute, "they look like fairy feet."

She smiled. "I was referred to as a midget in high school, being only 4'8. Still am."

His eyes met hers. "I'm 6'4."

She pulled her damp hair away from her neck and sighed as the AC washed away the heat on her neck.

"But you could be considered a porcelain doll," Derek murmured, fingers drumming on his thigh. She laughed and he looked startled by the sound.

"My mother always said I looked like a doll," she said quietly.

"Said? Past tense?" he commented slowly, green eyes boring into her.

"She died in a car accident when I was 12," she explained, brushing away her damp collar.

"That necklace?" he said, tilting his head.

"My mother gave it to me. I used to have these awful nightmares as a kid, ghosts and bogeymen." She shifted.

Derek reached into his shirt and pulled something out. On a chain, amongst so many dog tags was a black stone with the initials DZS.

"Derek…something…Souza?"

He nodded. "My middle name." He shrugged absently so Chloe dropped the subject.

"How old are you?" she asked suddenly. She bit her lip when he went still, elbows on his knees.

"Twenty-one," he responded flatly.

"So you can drink?" she asked softly.

His eyes snapped up to hers, confused but guarded. "Yes. But I don't." His tone left no room for argument and she wasn't about to start one.

"How come you joined the military?" She clicked her pen.

His gaze hardened and his mouth thinned; he didn't answer. "Okay. Do you like books?"

His tense shoulders sloped. After a few minutes, he nodded slowly. "Classics, mathematics," he said as she crossed her legs.

She felt oddly relaxed in his consistent presence.

"Like Pride and Prejudice? I like more recent, contemporary pieces like Sarah Dessen and James Patterson," she offered flippantly.

He shrugged. "The classics are good. And classic as in Bram Stoker's _Dracula,_ not John Greene or James Patterson's shit," he stated.

Books were safe, Chloe decided and started jabbering, which he returned but in short, simple sentences. They talked for half an hour before there was a rap on the door.

"We gotta jet," Simon called.

Chloe rose and Derek stood, too; he was so tall, his head brushed the ceiling.

His lips twitched. "I'll set up another session," he said, staring at her.

Her cheeks warmed under his sharp eyes as she nodded in response and gave him her business card.

He tucked it into his pocket and flashed her distrustful look, clear as day. It said _I still don't trust you._ He turned tail and walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Something Like That

Chapter Two

* * *

"To be honest," Chloe said, ignoring the way Brady, her dog, was prancing around at her feet excitedly as she walked into the kitchen, talking with Kari on the phone, "I don't remember him." She brushed away the crumbs from her crumbs from PP&J and took a bite as Kari babbled.

"Didn't you get a yearbook?" she asked, her Jolly Rancher clacking against her teeth.

Chloe imagined Kari in her love seat, ignoring the loud TV and focusing on her bag of Jolly Ranchers. Like old times.

"Yeah," Chloe said slowly, "but remember that wasn't the greatest time for me. With everything with my dad, my aunt and Royce's shit, I wasn't exactly paying attention to the really cute guys." She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and held it with her teeth, shaking out her hair tie. Her sweat-wet curls fell around her face and dripped down her shoulders.

"How is it these days?" Kari asked quietly.

"Fine. Managing." Chloe managed a tired smile in the mirror.

"You sure?"

"Yes, honestly. Boys just weren't number one on my list of priorities," the blonde muttered, wincing when Brady stepped on her toe in order to snuff at the crumbs.

"So it's girls now?" Kari's loud squealing laugh made Chloe pull the phone away from her ear to save her hearing.

"No."

"Sure, _sure_." There was a pause and all Chloe could hear was the click of the Jolly Rancher against her teeth. "Are you _sure_ you don't remember him? He was, like, _famous_. Linerback. Got up to college level, but he was wicked smart," Kari continued, the hard candy clacking against her teeth as she spoke rapid fire. "He was freshman, just like us but he took college-level classes with the exception of English."

"Maybe." Chloe crammed the last bite of her lunch into her mouth as she wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder. Unbuttoning her blouse, she made her way to her bedroom, kicking off her pumps. They clunked as they hit her dresser.

"Well, since we're meeting for dinner, I can bring my yearbook and we can look him up," Kari said. There was a loud crackling, like she was unwrapping something. "Sorry. That was me sitting on my bag of—" A loud _pop_ exploded out of the receiver. "—Jolly Ranchers." Kari burst into laughter.

Chloe eased the blouse off her shoulders then onto a hanger, buttoning it back up. Setting her phone on speaker and on the pillow, she wiggled out of her skirt. "Where do you wanna eat?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at her reflection in the mirror above her bed.

Her boyshorts hugged her bum, accenting her thin figure, making her look almost girlish and scrawny and her bra clasp fell across her shoulder blades nicely, molding to her skin. Even at twenty, her bra size remained rather small, perkier than anything; she'd only grown up to a B cup since age fifteen's A cup.

"Friendly's?" Kari asked as Chloe rummaged through her t-shirts, color-coded.

"Nah. We ate there last time." Modeling a thin purple v-neck against her chest, she thought.

"Chili's?"

"No. They don't have a lot of healthy selections." The redhead was notorious for her picky eating.

"How about Julian's?" Kari suggested after a long pause.

Chloe squinted at her image in the mirror, modeling a yellow button-down. "I guess. We haven't been there in forever," she said, sliding the shirt onto her shoulders.

"I'll be there in five. Liam!" The redhead yelled at her long-time boyfriend, Liam Malloy. Settling down with Kari had done the jackass some good; he got a job at a powerhouse site and got his shit together (no more hookers or one-night stands; no more drugs and drunk nights). They were due to be married in July.

"We need to find you a man," Liam yelled into the phone from the background and his shrill laughter made her wince.

"You need to get laid!" she shot back.

"I _do_ , as a matter of fact. Kari's an _amazing_ lover," he sneered.

Chloe scowled. "I do _not_ need to know you guys' sex life," she spat, "I love both of you but keep your sexual desires _away_ from my ears. I don't wanna bleach them."

The response was only laughter.

* * *

Julian's was an obscure restaurant, despite its delicious food and outrageously low prices.

The entire felt like you'd stepped into an old 50s diner. Red seats and booths, a stainless steel counter, lots of chrome.

In their junior year, Kari, Beth, Miranda, and Chloe had stumbled across the quaint place. Ever since, they'd love to hang out there.

"Hey, shorty," Nate laughed as he swept her up into his arms, bridal-style. That was his five-year greeting since they were fifteen, especially when he shot up like a weed in middle school at 5'11.

"Hey," Chloe laughed as she kissed Beth's flushed cheek and the black-haired woman patted her swollen belly proudly. At five months, she resembled a watermelon.

"Jesus, let's eat," she groaned as Nate set Chloe down and she led them to the huge table.

A server with familiar copper skin was waiting on their table. "Hey, Chlo. The usual?"

"Yup." Ramon bumped passed them with a laugh, carrying an order with plates lined up on his arms.

Seeing all the couples made Chloe feel lonely. Something hard and cold twisted deep in her belly. "I've gotta go to the bathroom," she muttered quietly and headed for the restrooms. A Frank Sinatra song was warbling in the women's restroom. She splashed cold water on her face, gripping the sink fiercely. _You're fine without a man. You don't need one,_ especially _after Royce._ A ghost of pain echoed, late nights spent watching and waiting for him to explode and then apologize through rough sex.

"You're fine," she whispered to her sad reflection. When she made her way back to the table, there was a tall man sitting next to her, Kari chattering excitedly opposite of him. Liam and Nate would occasionally say something to him. Cocking a brow, the blonde hesitated.

The man pushed out her chair and twisted.

Shock vibrated down her back in cold tendrils.

"Derek?"

"Chloe?"

 _They found you a man,_ Beth mouthed behind Kari.

Too bad he was Chloe's patient.


	3. Chapter 3

Something Like That

Chapter Three

* * *

"So how do you two know each other?" Kari asked, batting her lashes at Derek while sipping her cocktail.

The ex-soldier blinked as he looked up from his milkshake.

Chloe glared at her innocent-faced friends over her fries as she took several bites of her burger, effectively stuffing her face while avoiding conversation that would no doubt lead to her lack of romance in her life.

Ever since the end of her two-year relationship, Kari and Beth had been trying to push her back into the dating swimming pool, even though they knew what had happened.

Swallowing her bite, Chloe set down her burger and snuck a glance at the man beside her.

He was more focused on his food than anything, offering an occasional grunt of a response.

"Chloe, how do you know this hunk?" Kari demanded, a dangerous gleam in her eye that everyone liked to call her Date Game Gleam.

The therapist pushed back her chair quickly and stood. "I'm going to the bathroom," she said loudly, scowling at Kari's innocent expression, "so I'll be back in a minute." She slammed her chair in, making the glasses rattle fiercely. Derek's eyes were glued to her, following her, burning sharply.

She felt herself flush, blood rushing to her cheeks, burning her skin. When she got to the bathroom, she stared at her reflection: wide-eyed, wisps of hair in her face, and pink-faced. She patted her cheeks a few times, turning her head side to side. The blush spread down her face, down her neck, all splotchy and such.

The door squeaked open. Kari's familiar red hair caught the light, orange highlights gleaming in her curls. Her pumps clicked against the damp linoleum floor, her jeans swishing with each step as she hopped up onto the counter, kicking her legs while rapping out a beat with her knuckles against the granite counter-top.

"I'm sorry if you're angry," she said; angering Chloe was an every day occurrence since she was constantly trying to set the blonde up. "We're sorry. But you seriously need to get over the R-word," she continued, crossing her arms over her chest as Chloe splashed water onto her face. When she pulled away from the sink, she glared angrily.

"Shut the fuck up," she spat, surprising herself with the blatant anger and bitterness.

"Honestly, it's been three years, Chloe," Kari explained, hopping off the counter easily. She stabbed a finger. "You need to forget about that…that pig. You need romance. You need soft kisses and blushing roses. What you _don't_ need is wallowing in self-pity and feeling sorry for yourself."

Each word was a stab straight into Chloe's heart, a dagger twisting and twisting, digging deeper and deeper, gouging out the barely-healed wound.

"I swore off men for a reason. I thought _you_ of _all_ people would understand that," Chloe hissed and turned on her heel, stomping away. She sped away, slamming the door behind her. Hearing those cold, sharp words made everything she'd built up, all those walls had been punctured, crumbling away fast. A lump formed in her throat, thick and heavy like dough. Her stride slowed, sneakers catching on each other as she began to shuffle. A sob built up at the back of her throat, thick, hot tears burning her eyes. She pressed the heels of her hands against eyes, biting her top lip into her mouth, heavy choking breaths breaking out of her lips.

"Chloe? What's wrong?" It was a dark-haired high schooler named Peter, leaning out the kitchen door with a platter full of drinks. There came a cheer from the huge dining area, clinking of glasses and loud laughter.

"Fine," she muttered, wiping at her eyes angrily, "I'm fine. I need a to go box." She waited while he headed out to the dining room, more cheers exploding out of the room and drifting to her ears.

"Chloe, I'm sorry." Kari was panting as she came up behind the blonde.

The therapist crossed her arms and refused an answer, instead heading out to pay for her food and leave without another word to a human being.

There was a group of loud women in the back, laughing and talking at impossible volumes for a public atmosphere.

"Chloe, come on, you can't _really_ be mad at me for saying the truth," the redhead griped as they made their way back to the table.

"Oh, isn't that Royce's old girlfriend?" asked a way too loud voice.

Chloe clenched her jaw as she pulled out her chair and sat back down.

"It _is!_ Do you remember in high school when she had that freak out? Mr. Travis had to restrain her from jumping out the window."

She bit her tongue, tasting sour, sharp blood. Crossing her arms over her chest, leaned back in her chair and cast a quick glance over at the chattering women.

To her surprise, it was Mila Andrews and a girl with a Mohawk and huge hoop earrings, Amber Long.

"Yeah. And she's pretty flat chested too. Maybe she was easy." Mila shook out her thick curls.

Amber looked up from her shot glass with a frown. "You're not very busty either, and says the girl who slept with her college professor," she said around a shot of vodka.

"At least you call _see_ I'm a young woman. I don't look like a little girl." Mila took a sip of a pale pink drink.

Chloe dug her nails into her palms, focusing on the wet ring where someone left their drink.

"Didn't her mom die that year too?" Amber glared.

"Oh, that doesn't excuse acting like a crazy bitch," Mila pointed out.

"I heard she was on LSD," one of the other women said, in a loose sweater with blue lipstick and ebony skin.

"Diaz, she was _crazy_ ," Mila sniffed.

Chloe squeezed her hands tighter, cold prickles hitting her scalp and washing down her arms in shivers.

"With grief!" Amber objected, slapping her hands.

"Why would you try to kill yourself at school?" Mila shot a look Chloe's way. "It's pathetic. This isn't Columbine."

There was a loud screech and the clicking of ice. It took Chloe a few minutes to realize Amber had stood up, pouring her drink all over Mila's head.

"You're nothing more than a bitch in pretty clothing, Mila. She's _right there_. You've always been a bitch, but this is too far. Chloe, I'm sorry." Amber smiled sadly.

Chloe felt blood rush in her ears as she nodded.

"If I wasn't on probation, I'd kick your ass, bitch." Amber's glare said she meant it and the blonde therapist attempted to keep her tears under control.


	4. Chapter 4

Something Like That

Chapter Four

* * *

The air conditioning unit was broken.

Everyone was cranky and sweating. Even the patients were cranky, refusing to speak or snapping every answer, making things horribly worse.

Tori slumped at the circular desk, leaning her face into the cool wind from the little fan she'd brought in while she tried to keep her sweat-sodden hair out of her eyes.

Liz shuffled by slowly, her heels dragging as she flitted from room to room, delivering out mail.

It was Wednesday, four-o-clock, and Chloe's appointment, an emotionally wrecked girl named Sunny, had yet to arrive. Every tick of the clock made her hands itch for the phone, to speak with Sunny's dramatic but kind mother. Patients flowed in and out of the open rooms, some in tears, some sulking, and the psychiatrists were no better, running their hands through their hair or complaining to their friends.

A knock at the door made her jump up quickly, eyes flicking to the clock to see Sunny had missed her appointment entirely.

Derek's hulking form shuffled in through the frame and she sank back down slowly into her seat.

The hot leather burnt her skin as he sat down on the couch across from her, his face red and hair slick from the rivulets of sweat running down his face.

His eyes had this glassy glaze to them, as though he were dazed but muscles in his face kept twitching, belying his dazed eyes.

"Sorry, the air conditioning is broken," she apologized quietly, rising to take a seat in the armchair across from him, right side of a little knick-knack table, and on the other side of it was a similar chair, but in red. She sank down onto the cushion, ignoring the burn of her bare thighs and exposed shoulders on hot leather, and crossed her legs calmly.

His eyes flickered down once and he swallowed, his throat convulsing. A bead of sweat rolled down the column of his protruding jugular.

Absently, she wondered if she flashed him. "Where were we last week? What's been going on lately in your life?"

His steely gaze lifted and locked on hers. Slowly, as though he were a coil unraveling, he rested muscular, hairy forearms on his knees and she noticed the contrast between the golden skin of his biceps and the fleshy inside of his arms. "What's been going on in _your_ life?" he asked in a slightly condescending tone, cocking his eyebrow.

She felt jarred by having her standard question thrown back in her face. "I-I—" Heat flooded her face and she dug her nails into the armrests. "I-I don't know wh-what you mean," she lied and a dark expression shadowed his face before he quickly wiped it away, leaning back instead of confronting her blatant lie head-on.

"A boyfriend, dead parents, shitty friends," he droned, boredom in the set of his mouth.

Whatever patience she had was waning thin, keeping her tethered to her manners. Sweat beaded her neck and she wiped it away calmly.

His eyes slid to her arm and she remembered the scar on her arm, ragged and obvious, never quite healing.

"I cut it open on glass when I was fifteen," she explained and shook herself to rid the memories best forgotten. "No boyfriend, only living relatives are my dad and my aunt, and I have two dogs."

"Do you like your dogs?" he asked, for the first time interest piquing in his tone.

"I _love_ them," she stated as though it were the most obvious question of the millennium.

His eyes drifted up and stared at the spot just above her ear, his head bobbing.

Now, Chloe was at a loss for words. She picked at the loose thread of her skirt and wound it around her finger, watching it turn purple for a moment before turning her face back to him and saying, "Why hasn't Tori or Simon ever mentioned you?"

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. His jaw tightened and his posture was painfully rigid, as though he were trying to convince her he was a statue.

"Derek, you're here because Simon, one of _the_ most easy-going, laid-back guys I've _ever_ met, thinks you need help. _That's_ saying something. If you don't want it, then just tell me and I won't bother you again." A tiny, wiry smile touched her mouth as more sweat beaded her skin; creating sheen and making her clothes stick to her.

"We can sit here in silence for—" A quick glance at the clock. "—Almost an hour or you can tell me at _least_ why they never mentioned you," she pleaded on her last thread of patience, knowing how bossy she was being which wasn't very professional but she wasn't going to let some hard-ass make a mockery of her in her own office.

He didn't say anything, just sat there, staring off into space. Minutes crawled by painfully slow.

Anxiety set in and she forced herself to breathe steadily, hiding the tremor in her hands underneath her butt. Oh man, what if he filed a complaint against her for being so rude and unprofessional? She didn't know if she'd ever hear the end of it from her aunt. 'I told you. You should _always_ be polite, even if you don't want to be,' her aunt had told her numerous times. Lauren was one of those Always Polite Even If It's Not Necessary women and Chloe doubted that she'd be too happy about her blowing up at someone—a _client_ nonetheless—and the blonde really didn't want to hear about her horrible Society Appropriate behavior constantly—

"I didn't know," he said at last and the sound of his rumbling voice, like velvet-wrapped thunder rolling in across the sky, pulled her from her thoughts (thank goodness).

"What?" she squeaked.

He blinked at her and shook his head slowly, as though he was trying not to scare her. "I don't know. I knew who you were, of course, but I figured they'd at least _mentioned_ me," he admitted and the words were slow to fall from his mouth. From the pinched expression on his face, Chloe came to the conclusion that he was hated expressing his feelings.

 _Anti-social? Check._


	5. Chapter 5

Something Like That

Chapter Five

* * *

With every session, Chloe learned more and more about Derek.

He wasn't Kit's biological son, but when she tried to press further, he clammed up. Family was off limits, she decided. She found out that he loved to read, devouring books from a very young age, everything from short chapter books to thick college level books while he was still in middle school.

According to Tori after some snooping, he got straight A's his entire school career.

"How many books do you think you've read?" She leaned back into the plushy cushion, crossing her legs at the ankles as she tapped her fountain pen, a gift from her father one year, against the smooth expanse of untouched notebook paper.

Derek was reclining on the chair, legs stretched out. "I don't know," he said, his voice coming out slow and monotonous while his eyes squinted at the parking lot right outside her office. Slants of light highlighted the slight stubble on his jaw and the mole under his left nostril, unnoticeable unless you were staring at his mouth, which Chloe certainly wasn't.

She was professional, and never let her physical attraction or lonesome emotions break through that shield; if she did, everything she'd fought against when she left Royce would've gone down the toilet.

"A lot?" she suggested, leaning forward to peel her sweaty thighs from the baked leather. Wincing, she stood up and strode over to the light switch and flicked it down, turning on the fan.

The therapy center had yet to hear from the only heating and cooling maintenance company around. Less worried about turning into a puddle of sweat, she slid back into her chair.

He was watching her closely, his expression marble smooth, almost like a predator watching prey. Instead of unnerving her, it sent her skin bubbling with little sparks. She told herself it was nothing, just her imagination.

The last time she felt like that, it didn't end well; in fact, it ended in lots of bruises and broken bones and hospital visits. As the dark thoughts churned, a black storm inside her brain, she could feel hysteria creeping up on her, slow and painful, clawing at her, like huge weights with cleats in her sides. She pinched her thigh carefully and the hysteria bubbled back down to nothing, locked away in the deep recesses of her mind. When she focused her eyes, Derek was staring back at her as though he'd been spacing out too, although his eyes were laser focused on her face.

He was tense, his jaw tight, and his face icy, so cool that she could see her breath practically.

"S-sorry," she squeaked and was absolutely horrified to find herself stuttering, something she hadn't done since ninth grade.

Derek leaned away, his eyes clouded, and his face tight.

It was painfully unnerving and she cringed away, Royce's smooth face flashing up in a surge of memories, bitter in taste as well as her other sensations. Her bones ached with a phantom pain, rattling with false vibrations of an imaginary fist; she felt frozen, stuck in a familiar pattern, and she bit her tongue.

The sharp tang broke the spell.

"It seems you're having some trouble," he told her, although his voice was soft; it still cut her to the core, making her throat close up.

She sat completely still, breathing slowly like her therapist had taught her, and the hysteria really went away and the memories washed out too, flowing into the fabric of the armrests, where her fingers lay perfectly still, lining up with the seams. "Sorry about that," she apologized.

"We all have our demons," Derek murmured, eyeballing her as her muscles relaxed inch by inch.

"We do, even myself, but this isn't about me. Yes, I find it hard to beat them away, but I won't let them take over my career, my life. The demons are figments of imagination, nothing more. Memories that can't be changed."

She knew she should've expected him to ask but it still surprised her.

"And what were your demons just now?" His voice was low and husky, kind of throaty.

She could imagine him rolling out of bed and whispering something in her ear with that voice, sleepy face hovering. "His name was Royce." A strain rose in her voice but she shook it off. _Unprofessional,_ she screamed to herself, but if sharing her past was what got Derek to open up, then so be it.

"I met him three years ago. I was stupid and naïve, and he was so, so sweet…at least for a while. It started out little, a few mean comments, mean looks, you know. Eventually, it got worse. Broken bones, so many trips to the hospital that all the staff knew me by name, hiding my bruises under makeup. The sex was pretty rough too, to be honest, but I digress. Two years went by quickly, and I realized one night while I was in our apartment, bleeding while he was in the shower, if I didn't leave him, he'd kill me. My friends had been speaking the truth."

She took a breath. "He'd been a bad guy from the start, but I was…so naïve that I ignored it. Being the only one in my group of friends that wasn't in a relationship, I clung to him. Like he was a…a god. Mine."

She snorted. "I picked myself up off the ground and walked to my aunt's house. He set everything I had in the apartment on fire the night I left, so I slapped him with some domestic abuse charges and the cops hauled his ass to court." A little laugh bubbled out, hysterical and shrill, but relieved. It hurt to talk about it, but it made a connection with him. Instead of looking cold and bored, he looked intensely focused, drinking in her every word.

"During my high school years, I struggled with…suicide. It was a hard time for me."

He was quiet.

"My…demons—they know how to swim." He looked so heartbroken, his face closed off but his eyes sad, that she touched his leg with her hand and nodded.

"Good work."

"Tomorrow," he said as he headed out the door, "Maybe I'll tell you a story too."


	6. Chapter 6

Something Like That

Chapter Six

* * *

Opening up to Derek seemed to have really made a breakthrough with him.

He talked about how he'd like to finish his engineer career, so he could enter a mathematician position at the local university; he talked about Simon coming out during sophomore year of high school, followed closely by Tori, and about how his dad had suspected it but let them be; he talked about his team from the military, about the dog they'd given him, named Lucky. When he started speaking of the military, he got a bit quieter, solemner so she'd quickly grab a memory off the top her brain and Segway into that. He'd tell her when he was good and ready.

"Do you ever think about what would've happened if you'd jumped?" he asked suddenly one day as she struggled to find a topic to talk about.

She paused, blinking up at him. "Jumped?" she echoed, scrambling to find purchase on his question.

He nodded slowly, his face carefully smooth and bleak as he crossed his arms over his wide, muscular chest. "During high school, you had a breakdown and tried to jump out a window."

Embarrassment and surprise flooded her system, and she flushed a not so delicate shade of crimson, matching her necklace.

He'd _known_ the entire time.

He probably thought she was crazy as the rest of the school, but was far politer so as not to upset her and make her relive it.

And then, surprise. While she hadn't known him, he knew her, maybe was even in class that day, watching as the teachers wrestled with her and she cried and cried and screamed and the paramedics whisked her away, to a halfway house for crazy kids.

"Yeah," she admitted, shrugging a shoulder, "I mean, with depression _and_ schizophrenia, the suicidal tendencies kind of come hand in hand. It's a given. When you have a breakdown like that, in front of all your classmates who still talk about it like it was yesterday, giggling like schoolchildren when they pass you in the super market, it's kind of hard _not_ to think about it."

He was quiet, watching her from beneath a fringe of paintbrush bristle eyelashes.

"So, to answer your question in short, yes, I have thought about what would have happened had I jumped."

"I wouldn't be here, talking to you," Derek muttered, so quiet that she almost didn't catch it.

Her stomach twisted with butterflies and she flushed again, hating how her breath caught in her throat when he lifted his eyes to hers, vibrant and green and endless.

"I, uh," she stammered, threading her fingers around pieces of hair, and then stopped. Took a deep, deep breath, repeating in her head _be a professional, be a professional,_ and said, "That's true. I wouldn't be helping all my patients, and my family would've been devastated, losing yet another Saunders."

He cocked a black brow. "Another?" he asked.

"My mother, Jennifer, died of car accident back when I was in intermediate. My uncle, Ben, killed himself soon after. My aunt, as well, died from a heart attack. It's just my father and I," she explained, breathing steady to keep her voice cool and collected; the trembling of her hands belied her peaceful exterior, so she hid them underneath her thighs.

"Lots of death," he commented.

She nodded. "The family history is full of it," she told him, brushing a piece of hair away from her neck; the gold chain around her throat obviously caught his attention because soon after she moved the hair, he asked about it.

"My mother gave this to me when I little, plagued by boogeyman, brought on by either early schizophrenia or over-active children's imagination I don't know, but it helped. I stopped seeing monsters. I was normal, if only for a little while; she wore one around her neck, although it was blue, and Lauren, my aunt, had one in purple. The men got rings, one blue, one red, just like us. Silly, ridiculous, but it was our tradition." Just talking to him about her mother, about Lauren and Ben and her father made her relax and she set her hands on either side of her, on the arms of the chair.

"What about your family?" she asked once a silence fell over them in a lull.

Peeking at him through her lashes, she saw him stiffen a bit, and then relax. "Kit, my dad, owns a seafood restaurant on the south side—" he started, but she held up a hand with a tiny smile.

"I meant your biological family, Derek." She really thought he would clam up.

Instead, he stated, completely monotone, "My bio dad wasn't a bad person, at least, not when my mom was around. But then they got divorced and my dad was friends with Kit, so he asked him to take. Said he couldn't take care of a kid while running a business. Said I needed a stable home, with lots of love, and he couldn't give that to me then." He leveled his stare at her, and it was like looking into a dead man's eyes.

"We talked every day, since I was five, but it wasn't the same. His business was growing, so there was less and less time for me, and I understood that. When I turned ten, I waited for hours for him to show up only to be called just as the cake was being cut. Turns out he couldn't come over because some job emergency. Fucking asshole. I mean, who ditches their _own_ kid on their fucking _birthday_?"

Chloe gnawed her lip. "It must hurt to talk about that, especially with a stranger like me, but it also helps to get things off your chest, just to release the trapped emotions. If you lock them up, they fester, like open wounds, and can affect your day to day life. That was an amazing breakthrough, Derek. It takes a lot of courage to do that. I wouldn't have pushed you, if you really and truly weren't ready to tell me."

Derek looked away, out the window, cupping his chin in his hand. "I know," he told her, although he was speaking to the window, "I know, Chloe."


	7. Chapter 7

Something Like That

Chapter Seven

* * *

The Wednesday after her last session with Derek brought devastating news.

Sunny overdosed on her antidepressants and booze the week before and she was in the hospital, recuperating slowly. It came as a shock to Chloe's core, rocking her foundation. Briefly, she visited Sunny's room at the hospital before her five-o-clock with Derek, and nearly collapsed at the sight of the normally fiery girl lying on the bed, pale as the sheets covering her, a variety of tubes and wires sticking out of bruised, bone-thin arms. Sunny's mother was there, half-asleep in the chair, her cheeks red from tear tracks, and her husband came in carrying two large foam cups of coffee.

Chloe excused herself and hid in an empty bathroom stall while harsh, soundless sobs choked her. Once she got back to the office, her legs wobbled with every step, her entire body jittery and shaking, aftershocks of her hysterics. She sat at the desk for the longest time, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, feeling them sting with the after burn of her tears.

The door creaked open and she jolted away from the desk, knocking her chair onto its back. "Hey," she squeaked, brushing away the leftover tears from her cheeks as she righted her chair. Self-conscious, she smoothed down her skirt and adjusted the sleeves her blouse. Every move felt disjointed and something inside her threatened to burst, filled with a rawness that left her red and aching, a scar that had mostly healed but never quite, ready to be ripped open with the right amount of pressure.

"Chloe?" Derek's hulking form lingered just inside the doorway, his eyes pinning her where she stood; hot noises gurgled out of her passed a tight throat full of clay. He'd obviously come here from work; he still had his name tag pinned to the breast pocket of his button down and his black jeans were smudged with oil from working on car parts all day.

"I—" she tried, but her voice broke, and that unleashed a tidal wave. _Completely and utterly unprofessional,_ he aunt would say if she saw Chloe right now, tears dripping one after another down her face, and in front of a patient, nonetheless, but the tears kept coming. Huge, ragged gasps shook her body, and she lost her balance, toppling into the chair. "She—hospital—"

After hesitating, he crossed the room and rounded the side of the desk, leaning down to meet her eyes. He gave heat off like a furnace. "Chloe, what happened?" he demanded softly, his eyes soft but his voice hard like diamonds. Gripping the armrests of her chair, he kept her firmly rooted to the earth.

Heat rose in her throat, hot and sour bile burning her esophagus. "Sunny—one of my other patients—she overdosed. She's in the hospital. Only fifteen." A hysterical laugh popped out of her stomach without her permission, wild and high-pitched, keening. "Only fifteen and she's trying to end her life." The laughter morphed into chest-aching sobs and she curled in on herself, struggling to find enough air to breathe.

"I've seen it," he said suddenly.

She managed to swallow some of the sobs.

"Men…they don't come back from war the same. Some have nightmares, others see ghosts everywhere. They can't escape. Half of my platoons have blown their brains out, metaphorically and literally," he murmured, his thumb touching the jutting bone of her wrists, and even though the contact was miniscule at best, she relaxed into the plush, leather cushions.

"War changes people."

"So does watching your mother die." The words were out before she could stop them and he froze, tense.

"What?" he asked, his voice nothing more than a grumbled whisper.

"My mom died in a car accident when I was twelve. I was with her. It was raining and a man t-boned us from the side, full force, going about seventy miles an hour. It hit the passenger side and pinned my left leg to the seat." She reached down and rubbed the long scar that ran from ankle to knee of her leg. "Seeing Sunny hooked up to all those machines, all those tubes and wires, the heart monitor and breathing tube, reminded me of my mom, seeing her in the hospital. I remember the nurse had to roll me in with the wheelchair because my leg was healing for months after that."

Derek nodded calmly, his hands dropping away from the desk chair armrests; within the span of a second, he dragged one of the plush chairs over and sat in it backwards, his arms folded atop the back of the chair. His expression was guarded, closed, but his eyes were wide and raw, wild with so any emotions it was hard to pick them out from each other.

"They had to put my mom in a coma, swelling in her brain. The respirators kept her alive, and my dad had to pull the plug half a year later; he didn't want her to wither away in that hospital bed, day in and day out, slowly. I remember watching the heart monitor flat line when the doctor unplugged the machine." A shudder rolled up her spine and she hugged herself tightly around the middle, holding herself together.

"Remember what I said?" the black-haired man asked gently, soothingly.

She shook her head.

"My demons know how to swim," he said blackly, his eyes meeting hers. "They know how to swim inside me, and I see them in the eyes of strangers on the streets, accusing me of letting my men die, reflecting back out at me like a flashlight." He pressed something hard into her hands and she looked down.

A crumpled box of tissues sat in her lap. Hands trembling, she rubbed her cheeks to find sticky, damp tears coating her skin. "Sorry," she apologized quietly, unable to meet his eyes. "This is supposed to be about you and—"

"Chloe."

Unwillingly, slowly, she dragged her eyes away from tearing the cardboard and met his gaze. There was nothing harsh or critical in his expression; his eyes were glowing with something soft and heated, hazy.

"It's okay. I gotta go, though." He lurched to his feet and hesitated. "Will you, uh…"

"Yeah." She smiled a tiny bit. "I'm fine. Er, I _will_ be fine."


	8. Chapter 8

Something Like That

Chapter Eight

* * *

Sunny was slowly getting better and better. Chloe visited in the mornings before work and talked to the girl. Sunny explained how the antidepressants quit working, but she didn't want her parents to know, didn't want them to pay yet _another_ expense.

"It was so hard to even get up in the morning. All I wanted do was sleep. If I didn't sleep, I'd sit in my room and think about ways to die. Jumping off building, driving the car off a cliff, stepping into traffic, a noose…" Sunny trailed off, her eyes bloodshot and puffy and not very focused. The nurses had taken out the breathing tube and nose tube since she could breathe on her own and she sat up with the help of fluffy pillows, speaking for short periods of time to people who visited.

"Sunny, your parents love you very much. I think you need a new dosage," Chloe suggested.

The hospitalized girl shook her head, smiling sadly, and tears welded up inside her eyes, dripped down her cheeks. "I'm not coming back, Miss Saunders. The doctors are putting me under suicide watch and I'm headed to a hospital…for people with my problems," she whispered, turning her eyes down to the thin blanket covering her lap.

Chloe stared at the girl in half-surprise and half-expectancy. "They aren't problems. You don't choose it or not. You learn to cope with it. It's not going to go away, unfortunately, but your parents love you and they want you to be safe," she said gently, laying her hand against Sunny's.

The door opened and Chloe took her leave with a sad smile. "I'll cancel things. Don't worry about it," she said to Sunny's father. Once she reached the confines of her car, she let herself cry a little bit and then headed to work. The minute she got through the door, her coat hanging over her arm while she tried to smooth down her hair, Tori stood up.

"Derek's waiting for you," the brunette told Chloe.

Chloe paused, drinking in Tori's pinched expression, and hesitated outside the hallway that led to the therapy rooms. "Is he okay?" she asked quietly, hang on the doorknob as she took a few deep breaths.

"No," Tori answered softly, her kohl-lined eyes sad and tired, as she sat back down and answered the phone.

The blonde hurried down the hallway, feeling her heart pound as worry rolled up inside of her, like a wild wave, a mix of worry and anxiety. _Is he okay? Is he okay?_ She reached the door and her hands shook as she fumbled with the doorknob; eventually, she managed to open the door and pushed it open quickly.

Derek sat in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes focused on the window. A leather jacket lay across the armrest of his chair and there were dark stains around the collar of his grey t-shirt and underarms. He had his legs crossed under the table, his foot bouncing almost feverishly. The minute the door opened, his head snapped to the side and his eyes, forest-dark with haunting demons, met hers.

Chloe's knees weakened and she had to hold onto the door to stay upright. "I-I…" she said quietly, pushing away from the door-frame, and headed for the chair beside him. "What's wrong?" Both hands tried to flatten her wild hair as she laid her coat across the armrest and crossed her legs at the ankles.

"Everything," Derek intoned darkly, "everything and nothing."

She let out a deep breath and pressed her fingers into the underside of her thighs. "What happened, Derek?" she asked, leaning forward to grab his attention.

"He came home," he explained coldly, but, hidden underneath the shadows of his demons, was fear. The kind of fear that'd she'd seen on her face one too many times, when the shadows dropped down after Royce left, leaving her to lick her wounds. It was the fear that she'd felt when he walked into the room, afraid that he'd blow up, afraid of fists and bloody lips and bruises that took forever to heal.

Her stomach dropped. There was no doubt that it was his father, his biological father. His father was back. "Does Kit know?" she whispered, afraid to speak any higher.

"No. I ran into him…he had a woman with him…"

"A woman? Did he have other women with him when you were younger?"

A flat, dark look. "No. Never."

"How does that make you feel? Like he's replaced your mother?"

Another look, even darker.

"Does it make you angry?"

He scowled. "How would it make _you_ feel if your dad shacked up with some bimbo? How would _you_ feel after seeing your dad with some woman who isn't your mom?" he spat.

All blood drained from her face. "H-he…"

"Wouldn't it make you _angry?_ Wouldn't you want to _hit_ someone?" he hissed and stood up.

She scooted back, terrified, curling in on herself. Her brain shuttered as his eyes burned a hole into her. Her mouth tasted coppery and her limbs ached. The scars where he liked to slice her open throbbed. Every inch of her head pounded as Royce loomed above her, screaming, hysterical over her _looking_ at some guy—she _had_ to be fucking him, no doubt.

Derek froze when he lifted his hand and she flinched away from him, hugging herself.

"D-don't…Royce…" she whimpered, pressing her face into the cushion.

"You really think I'd _hit_ you?" he snarled, stumbling back, shock making his face white. "You think I'm the kind of guy to _hit_ a woman?" He was getting red in the face, imaginary steam billowing out of his ears.

"N-no, I-I just—" she whispered.

"You just _what_?" He crossed his arms and flopped down into his chair.

"I thought of Royce, o-okay? He…he liked to get up and in my face and…and talk about the things he'd do…" She rubbed her arms.

"Look, I'm…I didn't mean to scare you and I'm sorry," Derek muttered, looking away.

"I know you didn't, but I'm afraid our time is up for today. Derek? Please don't do anything rash," she murmured.

He stood and slid into his leather jacket. "I won't, Miss Saunders. I won't." On the way out the door, he glanced back and met her eyes.

"Alright. See you tomorrow."


	9. Chapter 9

Something Like That

Chapter Nine

When Derek came in the next day, the space around his eye was puffy and dark and his lip was split down the middle.

Chloe took a deep breath to rein in her anger. How could he be so brash, so irresponsible, like a child throwing a temper tantrum? The leather underneath her hands creaked as she dug her nails into it.

Derek slouched in the chair across from her, staring at her with a drawn expression, his mouth ever-so-faintly curled like he was daring her to say something.

"What did you do? To cope," she said, fighting to keep her voice indifferent, not inflecting any of the anger simmering in her veins into her tone. The leather squeaked and pulled at her skin as she uncrossed her legs. A sheen of sweat dampened the back of her blouse and pieces of hair stuck to her skin but under his stare, she felt ice-cold.

"What do you think?" he answered, his voice flat but his eyes gleamed with anger.

"What happened to your face?" Maybe he didn't go out and get into a fight like she thought he did.

He leaned forward, resting his cheek in his palm. When he spoke, his tone was condescending, mocking. "I ran into a door."

Or maybe he was as destructive about things he couldn't control as she thought.

"What do you think, doc?" he sneered, running a hand through his hair.

"I think you were so full of hurt over seeing your father with someone other than your mother that you purposely got into a fight. Anything to make the outside hurt like the inside," she said, avoiding his eyes in case he saw the ghosts in hers. She remembered thinking she deserved every punch from Royce when she was especially upset, telling herself that she wanted to hurt as badly as she did on the inside.

Derek's mouth curved into a sharp smile. There was nothing handsome about it, especially the way it stretched the cut in his lip wide open.

"How did it feel? To let out that anger on someone undeserving of it." Chloe chanced a look at his eyes and found there was something darker than anger in them. "Did it make you feel better about your situation?"

He sat back, smile dropping away, the smug expression shuttering into a drawn one. She couldn't tell whether he was just on guard or if he was really hurt. "He moved on," he stated quietly, nearly a whisper, "so why should it bother me? It doesn't." He'd been staring at the ground while he spoke but he lifted his eyes now, meeting her gaze with a glare that put chills down her back. "It _doesn't_."

"Then why'd you go out and get into a fight if it doesn't bother you? You must feel _something_ because if you hadn't, well, you wouldn't be sitting here with a black eye, now would you?" She was careful to keep her voice and volume in check, letting the smallest amount of irritation bleed into her tone. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and she wiped it away without taking her eyes off him.

His jaw was tight and his forearms were tense, his hands clenched into fists. "Maybe because I just _wanted_ to," he growled.

She shook her head. "Most people don't do something because they _want_ to, much less get into a fight. There's always an underlying cause, namely an emotion." Reclining in her seat, she shifted her legs and waited for his response, if there was one.

"So what? You want me to say I threw a hissy fit 'cause my father's banging some lady?" He suddenly stood, towering above her.

She quickly rose and put space between them in case things went sour.

"What part of 'I don't care' do you not get? He's a fucking piece of shit that I couldn't care less about," he said flatly, pinning her to her spot with a glare. He then turned and stalked away, yanking the door so violently she was afraid it'd come off the hinges and slamming it on the way out. The window behind her shuddered and she listened to the sound of his heavy footsteps stomping away.

Her breath came in gasps as she struggled to stay calm. She really hadn't expected him to blow up like that, but it didn't really surprise her either. His father—no, his biological family as a whole seemed to be a sore subject and she had just irritated that wound to the point of reopening it. As a therapist, she was supposed to help him with his nightmares and fears from the war, but how was she supposed to when he wouldn't tell her why he was the way he was? How was she going to get to the bottom of his reluctance to ask for advice and to open up without a major blowout?

She shoved her hair away from her face and scrubbed at her burning eyes. _He's a_ patient, _and you're his therapist,_ she reminded herself as her breathing came easier and she stopped feeling shaky.

"What did you do to Derek? He's in the worst mood I've ever seen and I was a goth kid in high school!" Tori yelled as she barged in.

Chloe sat down. "I…I can't tell you. Doctor-patient confidentiality—"

Tori lurched forward and slammed her hands on top of Chloe's desk. "Confidentiality my _ass_! That's my _brother_!" she snapped, glaring down at the therapist. Her chest heaved with her erratic breathing.

"Funny how you and Simon never mentioned him," the blonde pointed out flatly, "I never knew you _had_ another brother until Simon dropped by with him, and _he_ didn't know you guys never told me about him. He was upset about it. So pray tell, why has he never been brought up in the five years we've known each other?"

Tori's face got white and drawn. "That's none of your business," she said faintly.

"Get out of my office, or tell me why."

"It's a long story," the brunette warned her, looking exhausted and worn-out.

Chloe pointed to the recliner. "We're on lunch break. I've got plenty of time."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry about not writing for a while. My ex broke up with me a few days before Valentine's but I have a new bf. I just haven't been very motivated to write lately. Thanks for sticking with me, those of you who don't hate me.

* * *

Something Like That

Chapter Ten

Chloe stared unflinchingly back at her dark-haired friend, ignoring Tori's obvious reluctance to talk about the refusal to talk Derek. "He's your _brother_. How can you pretend he doesn't exist? I've known you since, what, high school?" she demanded, clenching her fists to stay calm, the prick of her nails against her palm keeping her level-headed.

Tori's dark-rimmed eyes narrowed. "Because, _Chloe_ , he hates us. He's not our actual brother. My dad adopted him when he was five, and he wasn't the most pleasant kid. He was a dick even then and he still is, but now..." Her normally loud voice trailed as she sighed and rubbed her face, smudging her eyeliner. "He can still be a dick but I'm worried about him."

"Tori, that doesn't _explain_ _—_ " Chloe tried to say, her voice high-pitched around the lump in her throat, but Tori shot her a dark glare and she quieted.

"Like I said, he was a pretty anti-social kid, since my dad adopted him and probably even before that. It didn't get too bad until the puberty smackdown and then high school; he didn't have any friends and everyone absolutely _hated_ him. He was two years ahead of us, so we didn't see him that much, and he was working at some construction sight with his bio dad."

"Zachary?" Chloe asked.

Tori nodded, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and then sat back. "Yeah, he keeps in contact with Zachary all the time. Even when he was real little, they talked every day. Kit didn't want Derek to think his dad abandoned him, even though he basically did. Sounds like Diane, right?" It wasn't a secret that Tori's mom had bailed after she gave birth and skipped town; it also wasn't a secret that Tori was resentful over it either. She plowed on.

"Anyway, he went underground after he graduated and no one could get a hold of him. It was hell; my dad was pissed about it. We quit talking about him after that because it just made my dad think he was a shitty parent. Plus, why bother trying to reach out if Derek wants to be a hermit and won't even _read_ anyone's texts? But, after he got deployed the first time and came back, he started calling every day and my dad blew up at first. He went absolutely _ballistic_! I've never seen my dad go so red-faced; I thought he'd have a stroke."

Chloe shifted in her seat, ignoring the way her thighs stung when she peeled them away from the hot cushion, sweat slithering down her spine, dampening her blouse. "So Derek went solo and disappeared? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," Tori replied sheepishly. "He gave no signs, nothing, and then poof! He was up and gone in the wind like some sort of James Bond. But, enough about that. Where was I? Oh, yeah. He got deployed maybe half a year after he started calling and came back...different. Didn't talk as much and you've seen him. Isn't much of a talker to begin with, am I right? He called even more but didn't really talk; it was kind of like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall."

Chloe readjusted herself again, this time getting up from her chair to cross the room and adjust the ac.

"I'd catch him staring off into the distance like he's zonked out, you know? I didn't think too much about it until he came back from this deployment. The last two were okay, I guess, but this one..." Tori twisted the edge of her skirt, smoothed out the wrinkles, and looked out the window, tendrils of hair curtaining her face.

"He came back like a shell. Didn't talk to anyone except my dad. Even _Simon_ doesn't know why he came back all zombie-fied, and he's Derek's only friend. I'm scared he'll—you know," she murmured, her voice weak and tiny in comparison to her normally raspy, easily-heard-above-a-room one, and then her head turned, a slant of sunlight cutting across her almond eyes, and Chloe saw how glossy her eyes were, smudging her eyeliner.

"I'm scared, Chloe, that he's suffering, we can't help him, and he's going to kill himself. We wouldn't know what to do if that happened," she whispered brokenly.

Chloe pushed the box of Kleenex towards her. "Have you tried asking him?"

"You think I _haven't?_ He _refuses_ to talk about it! He just glares and walks away like I'm not worth his fucking time!" Tori yelled suddenly, jarring Chloe with the abrupt mood change.

"I'm sure he'll talk about it when he's ready," the shorter woman said lightly.

"When the fuck would that be?" the dark-haired woman hissed, her voice low and venomous. How Tori could go from crying to seething in seconds always surprised Chloe.

"I can't say when. Everyone's different. Even then, I can't tell you; I'd be breaking doctor-patient confidentiality, and his fragile trust," Chloe explained soothingly, setting the box on her knees and plucking a tissue to hand to her friend.

"I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm just so _angry_ he won't open up to you," Tori groaned, scrubbing her face hard enough to give herself raccoon eyes with smudged eyeshadow and eyeliner.

"He needs time to heal. To cope. To accept what ever happened to him. I know it took me years to stop thinking everyone was the R-word," the blonde replied, hoping to establish a personal link between her and Tori by shedding a bit of perspective on the subject.

The receptionist scrunched up the tissue, wet it a bit with the dusty glass of water Chloe had forgotten to dump, and rubbed the smudged makeup from around her eyes. "I know, but I want to know he won't be another PTSD soldier that kills himself. That would devastate everyone, even Zach," she muttered defeatedly.

"We have to wait and see how thing unfold, Tori. If we push him, he'll clam up." She glanced at the time. "How about I take you out? Just you and me, some girl time?"

Tori looked up, one eye clear of her ruined makeup, and pursed her lips. "Will you pay?"

Chloe stood up, ignoring the several layers of skin that undoubtedly tore off when she did, and reached for her purse. "Of course. I'm taking you to a neat little place I found in sophomore year. My treat."

"Lemme fix my other eye and then we can go." There was a slight spark in Tori's eyes and Chloe let out a relieved breath.

She hope, for everyone's sake, that she would be able to get Derek to open up about what happened to him to make him clam up so much.


	11. Chapter 11

Something Like That

Chapter Eleven

The next session was understandably tense, and Derek made no move to apologize for his behavior—not that she really expected one, but still—and she was very careful. She didn't even remotely broach the topic of families, especially his, so they talked about other things. Anything and everything.

He looked at her during one session and said, quietly, "You're scared of me, aren't you?"

She froze, mouth half-way open, and stared at him. "W-what?" she squeaked, unable to keep her voice from cracking.

The look he gave her was dark and tinted with something stained, something that no amount of time could fade. "I scared you," he stated, a monotone coloring his voice, as his eyes met hers, "that day. Last time." His black eye was healing, no longer dark, but rather a yellow-green that made her a bit queasy to look at.

"No." It was reflexive, a knee-jerk response, and his eyes narrowed at her.

"Liar."

She wiped her sweaty palms on her legs. "You don't scare me. I've dealt with worse. Escaped an abusive ex, remember? He nearly killed me," she reminded him, watching his face carefully to see if he'd react to her statement. This time months ago, she couldn't ever think of even _remotely_ joking about what had happened with Royce, but she found herself doing exactly that—with a _patient_ nonetheless. Not Kari or Beth. _Derek._

He frowned at her, a crease deepening at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, you did, which is commendable on its own, but I scared you then. You had the same look on your face as a cornered rabbit." He twisted the ring that sat on his middle finger almost absently, as though he wasn't thinking about it much, but Chloe could see the tension in the line of his shoulders and the stiffness of every breath.

"Well," she said, "how would you feel with a roughly two-hundred pound patient lashing out at you?"She raised both brows at him.

Sucking in his lip, he fell silent and stared at the floor for the longest time.

The blonde sat back and allowed him to glare until she felt he'd gone doing that long enough. "If you continue to do that, you'll make a hole in the ground."

He grunted and straightened up, a sort of gleam in his eye that put her on edge within seconds. "I wanted to scare you," he admitted in a subdued voice. He wasn't looking at her when he said it though; his eyes were blatantly locked on something over her shoulder.

Chloe shifted. "Is that normal for you? To want to scare someone when you're angry?"

Derek's eyes flicked to hers. "Yes." Swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, he relaxed back into his chair. "That's how it's always been. When I'm angry, people make themselves scarce." An attempt at a smile, or what she assumed was a smile or something of a similar nature, came out as a grimace.

"Because of your, um, size?" she ventured, treading deeper waters now. When he didn't respond, only clenched his jaw, she took the initiative. "When did you start growing? Or at least getting big?"

"I was about twelve. You know, puberty," he replied dryly.

Her cheeks felt like two hot stove elements as she'd inadvertently embarrassed herself. "But when did they start shying away? How did that make you feel?" she pressed, letting her embarrassment drop away to give room for professionalism.

"Around fourteen. I was really tall and started gaining weight like crazy. I—" he said, but quickly closed his mouth, a dark torment in his eyes. Heaving a shuddering breath, he sagged, his shoulder drooped like the eyelids that slid shut over his eyes, and Chloe waited patiently.

"It hurt, you know?" he whispered after a prolonged lapse of silence. "I wasn't some _monster._ "

 _Like_ him. The unspoken end echoed.

She didn't need to ask which him Derek was referring to.

"So being angry, people are scared of you."

He shook his head. "They're not _scared_ per say; they just keep out of my way. But you—you were _scared_ of me. You looked like you were expecting me to _hit_ you." After a moment, he looked at her. "That's what _he'd_ do, wasn't it?"

It was her turn to swallow hard. How had the conversation come back to her failed relationship?

"Yes."

The single word carried so much weight that it left her crippled. _Yes_ , he'd hit her when he was angry; _yes_ she'd been scared out of her mind last time she and Derek were in this room; _yes_ she'd thought Derek might hit her, especially at the end, when he stormed out.

"Derek," she said, watching him apprehensively, "I'm no scared of you."

"Why not?"

She licked her lips and drew in a long, tired breath. Behind her eyes, an acute pressure throbbed, a brewing headache. "Because you're a good person, despite the hand you've been dealt."

He frozen upon hearing that. "Hand I've been dealt with?" he repeated venomously, his lips peeling away in a sneer at her. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

She swallowed again. "Look, I know you haven't had the best life, given the way you react to things, but you're a good person at heart."

"Tori told you, didn't she?"

Now it was _her_ turn to freeze. Every muscle tightened and her stomach dropped. "No," she lied quietly, avoiding his eyes.

So fast it had her shrinking back a little, Derek sprang to his feet. "God _damn it_ ," he barked, striding for the door with an agitated gait.

"Derek, please, don't be—" she pleaded, hurrying to follow him; they'd been doing so well until she slipped and said _that_.

He rounded on her. "Shut _up._ She shouldn't have told you." His eyes were hard and unforgiving, piercing her in the worst ways.

Something hot blossomed in the middle of her chest.

"It wasn't her fucking story to tell, Miss Saunders."

 _Miss Saunders._

"Derek, I asked—" she tried again.

"It wasn't her _fucking_ story!" he boomed and, within the span of breath he was storming away, making a beeline for Tori's desk, uncaring of if he was causing a scene.

Chloe was helpless to stop his violent path of destruction.


	12. Chapter 12

Something Like That

Chapter Twelve

Tori wasn't angry at all, but Derek was the epitome of destruction, kicking over Tori's armchair and slapping the papers off her desk, overturning the couch and knocking the lamp to the floor, shattering the glass.

Chloe scrambled after him, her heartbeat in her ears, cursing herself over and over, and saw him looming above Tori, his hands swept in her direction.

Tori's kohl-lined eyes glanced at her.

Derek wheeled around, and Chloe couldn't help but step back, her muscles tightening when she saw the dark, hungry anger on his face and the yellowing bruise around his eye. He looked too much like Royce, a whisper of yet another fight.

"Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded in a tired voice, the complete opposite of the booming one he'd used before, and she couldn't find the words to speak.

"I asked her why she and Simon hadn't told me about you. I've known her since high school, yet you never showed up or were brought up," Chloe said, keeping her hands balled tightly so he wouldn't see how badly she was shaking; it was hard enough trying to breathe without vomiting.

Derek's dark eyes drilled a hole into her.

She could understand where he was coming from, but his rage shook her to the core. His rage was on par with Royce, and that scared her beyond belief. It was like a switch went off in his brain, and he turned into Hyde.

Had he always been so short tempered? Or did the war change him?

"So you just coughed up my entire life story, huh?" he sneered, turning back to Tori so fast it made Chloe jump.

The dark-haired woman crossed her arms, tapping two fingers on her bicep, a gesture that Chloe recognized as a strategy to deal with unstable, unruly patient: _call security._ Chloe hesitated, unsure since this _was_ her brother, but shook off her hesitance; right now, he wasn't playing as Tori's older brother, but the role of an angry, unpredictable patient showing impossible anger and strength.

As soon as she took a step, however, he turned. "What are you going?"

"M-me? No-nothing," she lied, fidgeting under his stare while her mind raced for a plan. She couldn't even find it in her to care about the stutter that slipped out as the hard green glass of his eyes narrowed. The breath caught in her throat as he stalked forward, an animal in human skin, every muscle working.

Once he was within a few inches, he just stood there, watching her with those hard, unforgiving eyes, and she began to shake. _Tremble._ She'd never encountered such rage since she left Royce, and now her demons were clawing to the surface, ripping bleeding lines in the barely-healed seams of those wounds.

"You're a fucking _bitch_."

Her stomach plummeted, and hot, angry tears stung her eyes. Fear spiked.

Tori's mouth dropped open as all three of them whipped around. Chloe's lunch burned her throat as vomit rushed up at the sound of the voice.

The painfully familiar, lanky figure blocked out the doorway, watching with cold, gray eyes, and Chloe's legs finally gave out. She hit the floor with a resounding smack and swallowed the vomit that had filled her mouth with its acidic taste.

"I finally found you," the man in the doorway continued, as though he weren't interrupting the confrontation, and Chloe hugged herself tightly. "Just like I promised. Here I thought you'd fled the damn state and here you are— _hiding underneath my nose._ "

It was disgusting how the man had reduced her from a woman to a scared teenager all over again. Every breath stung her throat as she curled up tighter, pressing her back against the wall.

"Who are you?" Tori demanded, hurrying to put herself between Chloe and the man.

Derek shifted, angling himself away from Chloe and grabbed Tori's wrist hard enough it made the skin red, tugging her behind him.

The other man noticed and smiled. "I'm surprised Chloe hasn't told you about little old me. Sweetheart, I thought we were friends." He pouted.

"You're Royce, aren't you?" Derek said, letting go of Tori's arm now.

Chloe watched with wide eyes as she climbed to her feet. "No, he's not," she murmured, feeling a little spike of pleasure when Derek's head whipped around. By the jut of his jaw, she knew he was still angry with her.

"That's Liam and where he goes, Royce is sure to follow."

The door opened again, blacked out by a shorter but just as thin man, with curly dark hair. His upturned eyes scanned the room and Chloe was proud in the way she didn't collapse as his eyes met hers. The thin, pink lips that was his mouth broke into two halves, a smile that made the brown of his eyes turn hazel.

"Royce."

"Chloe, I've looked everywhere for you. Are you okay? Liam didn't hurt you, right?" He shot a dark look at the blond man as he crossed the room, completely ignoring Derek until the broader man blocked his path.

"Excuse me," Royce said with a sweet politeness.

Chloe couldn't help the fluttering that started up in her stomach at the smooth sound of his voice. How many times had that voice aroused such deep feelings in her? How many times had she heard her name on a breathless whisper as they made love?

"Derek, move."

The words tasted sour and stale on her tongue, and she could see the shock in his eyes when he turned to her, to question her request. This...this was between her and Royce, and she didn't need her patient to get between them—he wasn't her boyfriend, her friend, her anything but a patient.

She met his eyes until he stepped away, but Tori refused.

"I've missed you," Royce breathed, and over his shoulder, Chloe saw Derek hesitating, a broken sort of sadness in the line of his shoulders, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, and then he was walking away.

She wasn't sure he'd ever come back.


End file.
